


Terrible Idea

by autisticblueteam



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Autistic Character, Cunnilingus, F/F, Oral Sex, RvB Smut Week, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Agent South Dakota, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 17:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11972469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autisticblueteam/pseuds/autisticblueteam
Summary: Training room sex is, objectively, a terrible and risky idea. But it is terribly fun.





	Terrible Idea

**Author's Note:**

> *turns up multiple days late with an unedited fic* This was meant to come out on F/F day of this event, I swear.

“For the record, this is an absolutely _terrible_ idea.”

South snorted. “Uh-huh, sure babe; absolutely terrible. You say, after you already disabled the fucking cameras, marked the room occupied _and_ in the middle of pulling off your fucking shirt.”

Connie did little to hide her grin when the brown workout tee finally came off, throwing the material at South’s face and laughing as she caught it. “Oh shush. I never said I wasn’t— _enabling_ the idea.” The shirt came back at her and she blocked it, covering her face with her arms. It fell into a messy pile on the floor. “Just that, _objectively_ , training room sex is a terrible idea. Total recipe for disaster.”

“And you’re the absolute peak of objectiveness, huh?” South said, brow cocked and lips quirked in a smirk. Connie laughed softy, closing the small distance between them and stretching up on her tip toes and draping her arms over South’s shoulders.

“Well now, I never said _that_.”

With a roll of her eyes South leant down, wiping away Connie’s grin with a kiss as her hands settled on her hips. Fingers laced themselves into her hair, whilst hers fiddled with the elastic of Connie’s black yoga pants, the ones with the brown stripes down the side—seriously, why did everything have to be colour-coded here? Even Connie’s sports bra—also, tragically, still in place—had brown detailing. It was fucking weird. South’s finger followed the line of sewn on pattern for an inch or so, before hooking her thumbs over her waistband and dragging the material down her thighs.

There was no hesitation in the way Connie wriggled and kicked the yoga pants away, letting South’s hands roam over the newly exposed skin. Up from the thick of her thigh to the curve of her ass and back again, her fingers pressing hard into the combination of soft fat and firm muscle. It was Connie who used the strong grip to lift herself away from the ground, wrapping her legs around South’s hips, catching her off guard and unbalancing her just enough.

When her back hit the wall, she hummed. Tugged at South’s bottom lip as she pulled away.

“Keeping your sweats on?” she asked, pressing kisses along the line of South’s jaw and down her neck to her pulse. The soft drag of teeth made South’s breath catch in her throat.

“Yeah, yeah. Fucking— easier and shit.” They were loose and comfortable, didn’t restrict her or make her too aware of herself. Her tank top, though, that had to come off.

Keeping Connie in place took no effort on her behalf; she’d latched onto South’s hips like a vice, knees digging into her sides with a sharp pressure that hurt in a good way. Kept South in place, between her legs, pressing her to the wall. Dragging her tank and sports bra over her head took seconds, so did throwing them carelessly behind her so they joined the other discarded clothes on the floor.

Before it even left her hand, Connie had dragged her back into a kiss. Hands, firm, on either side of her face. Lower lip pulled in between her teeth. Noses brushing, lips moving together, fast and eager. Nails dragged up Connie’s sides, fingers slipping under the elastic band of her bra. It bunched slightly at South’s wrists, had enough give that she could take handfuls of her breasts, squeeze lightly and circle her nipples with her thumbs.

Connie gasped, pulled away and rested their heads together. Her eyes stayed closed, her breathing quickened just slightly. Lips latched onto her neck and she tilted her head back, giving her better access. Sparks shot from every point of contact, faint but growing. As was the warmth in the pit of her stomach, between her legs.

“Good girl,” she purred, already lacing her fingers back into South’s hair. The shudder that followed made her grin, run her fingers through her hair with a soft, pleased sigh. “ _Good girl_. Want me to take— take that off, Tasha?”

A quiet ‘mmhm’ tickled the skin of her neck. Holding tight with her thighs she kept herself steady, freeing her hands to pull the offending material over her head. As soon as her arms dropped back to drape over South’s shoulders, her lips returned to her neck, trailing kisses down across her collarbone, down the valley between her breasts. No more material in her way, restricting the movements of her hands. Squeezing, kneading, thumb flicking over the hardened point of a nipple as her mouth closed around the other.

Soft sucks, the slow circling of her tongue, the light teasing of teeth. Warmth spread across her skin, her nerves, eliciting delightful noises from Connie. South always loved the noises Connie made, loved the way her skin flushed and warmed under her touch; her body was soft and made of curves, gentle lines, hiding the muscle that South knew she had.

She switched sides, took a fistful of the breast she left and grinned at the moan it earned her. Connie liked the force. It earned her a tug at her hair, at her scalp; pleasant shocks down her spine. Her own pants and quiet groans tickled Connie’s skin, made her shiver as warm breath turned cold against the wet that covered her nipple.

It was a mix of sensations, the thrumming pleasure of South’s firm squeezing and kneading, the fainter spark of the slow, gentle sucks and swirls of her tongue—the combination had her squirming, dragging South closer.

South hummed. The hand on Connie’s thigh climbed higher, settled on her ass. Her panties were still on, but getting them off would mean Connie letting go—not happening. It didn’t need to, South could work with this. She slipped her hand further, let it dip down between Connie’s legs and press against the dampened material. Immediately, her hips pressed forward into the touch; South grinned around her breast, rubbed in slow back and forth motions.

“Tasha— _fuck_.” Connie bit her lip. “Want— want me to take those—?”

She cut off with a moan, soon followed by a squeak as South hoisted her up, lifted her onto her shoulders. Connie’s thighs closed around her head, holding herself steady whilst she adjusted her position—knelt down, held Connie against the wall, nuzzled against the front of her panties.

“Nah. I know what I’m fucking doing, babe.”

With one hand grasping her thigh and the other between her legs, South tugged the crotch of Connie’s underwear out of the way and flicked out her tongue. A gasp sounded above her and she grinned, swiping the flattened tip of her tongue along her folds to pull a moan past Connie’s lips.

Connie took fistfuls of her hair, pushed at her head as her tongue swept over her, the thick of it brushing just lightly over her clit and sending sparks through her nerves. She felt as South pushed her underwear as far out of her way as she could, freeing her fingers to spread her lips, let her drag her tongue between them. Her gut twisted and tightened, hips rocking against the well-practiced motions of South’s familiar mouth.

She buried her face between Connie’s legs, before long wet from her nose to her lips and chin, her tongue drawing moan after moan and noise after noise from the agent above her. She knew what Connie liked, what she responded to. What made her wetter, made her gut fill with heat and her muscles tighten and flex in little pulses. Connie was hot and soaked under her lips and tongue, made it all too easy to adjust the position of her fingers so two could slide right into her, accompanied by quick, fleeting flicks of her tongue at her clit.

A sharper moan, a gasp, nails digging into South’s scalp. “Oh— _good girl_ , Tasha. G-Good girl.”

South hummed, shuddered, rocked her fingers into Connie in firm, deliberate thrusts whilst her mouth focused in tight on her clit. The pointed tip of her tongue, circling around the sensitive nub; the thick of her tongue dragging firm and slow over it. Connie’s thighs closed in tight around her head, holding her there, flexing; her toes curled, heels digging into her shoulders. Moans and scattered curses slipped past her bitten lips.

Knowing that Connie was secure where she was, South felt safe letting go of her thigh and letting her hand drop down, rest over the bulge under the loose material of her sweats. Cupped herself with just enough pressure to rock against, give her a little stimulation but let her focus remain on Connie—her noises, her taste, her thighs around her head and hands holding her there, as if she’d ever pull away.

Curling her fingers to press against her g-spot, working against it in time with the continued attention applied to her clit. Her hips rocked down against her fingers, her back arched off the wall as the sensations built on each other, gathered in her gut and lower. Sparks and warmth that spread through her nerves, under her skin, making everything blur a little around the edges as she grew closer and closer.

“Tas _haaa_ —” The name faded, replaced by a long, drawn out moan as she came around South’s fingers, against her mouth. The blur at the edges of her vision became an encompassing white, dulling the outside world to anything but the overwhelming sensations.

South gradually stopped the thrusting of her fingers, the motions of her tongue; she helped Connie ride her climax out, easing her down, then stopped both motions altogether. She pressed her face into Connie’s inner thigh, breathing deep, holding her steady. Her hips still rocked forward against her own hand, but slower, careful not to make Connie unstable as her grip loosened.

When everything became clearer again, the brief overload passing, Connie’s entire body felt both lighter and heavier at the same time. Her skin tingled, at every point of contact.

Looking down, she was greeted by South’s blue eyes peeping over her thigh to see her face. A pleased hum vibrated behind her lips and she stroked South’s hair from her face, tapped the back of her head. From there they both moved to set her on her feet, her legs a little wobbly. South nuzzled against her stomach.

“Good girl. That was amazing, Tasha, as always.” Soothing fingers ran through her hair, and she felt South’s grin against her skin. “Our booked slot here is almost over, I think we better finish this back in our room, don’t you?”

South hummed. “Mmhm. _If_ you admit that this was far, far from a terrible fucking idea.”

“You say that as if I ever doubted this would be fun,” Connie said, brow raised and an amused smirk on her lips.

“Babe.”

“Fine, fine,” Connie said, light-hearted and teasing, “this wasn’t a terrible idea.”

“Better. Now c’mon,” she tapped her on the ass twice, stole a kiss as she stood up, “get your sweats and tank back on, let’s fucking move.” Grabbing her own tank she pulled it on, stuffed her sports bra into one pocket of her sweats and stuffing _Connie’s_ sports bra and underwear in the other. When she looked back at Connie, she was folding her arms and raising a brow at her. “What? Less layers to fucking remove.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“But you fucking love me for it.”

Connie rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. She simply snatched up her remaining clothes and pulled them on—she’d get her back once they got to their bunk.


End file.
